Zara Jones
by elenagallagher
Summary: Zara has been in care for almost as long as she remembers. To her every care home is the same, a barrier keeping her back from what she really wants to do. Ashdene Ridge is no different. Will she be able to keep up her bravado or will a certain brunette boy be able to break her?
1. Chapter 1

"Let's get this over with," I say to Max in a bored tone. He shrugs slightly and picks up my things, bringing them into the large house in front of us. No, not house. It's more of a mansion. I stuff my hands in my pockets and follow him, my dark shades covering my green eyes. I'm wearing a plum coloured tank top with white shorts and purple to white tye-dye converses. For once my light copper skin looks almost perfect under the afternoon sun. I walk through the oak door and, unsurprisingly to me, there's a bunch of people waiting by the door, probably trying to catch a glimpse of 'the new kid'. It's the same everywhere I've been, "Hi, Max. Let's get this paperwork over with shall we?" An man, much older than Max who's my newly qualified social worker, says clapping his hands together. I blink, trying to work out his accent. I only get it when he says, "Guys, this is Zara. Be nice," Irish. Makes a change, I suppose,

"Hi, Zara, I'm-" a young girl starts. From head to toe she's wearing blue and her blonde hair is tied in a loose fishtail braid. She must be, what, 11 or 12? "I don't really care," I interrupt her mid-sentence. She stops, but her mouth stays open in a small 'O' shape. I push her jaw up gently with my index finger, "You'll catch flies," I'm being confrontational, I know. I mean to be. Everywhere I go I have to do this, to show them who's in charge because it has to be me. It has to be me or I know I'll get bullied like I did in the first home. It's so much easier to be the one who pushes people away rather than the person who gets pushed away, "Don't talk to her like that," A brunette boy, also wearing blue from head to toe says through gritted teeth, "Who's going to stop me?" I ask then smirk slightly, looking him up and down, "You?" He lunges towards me and grabs my straightened black hair with one fist. Woah. I can safely say I was not expecting that, "Johnny, stop!" I hear someone else say, not the care worker from before but someone else. One of the kids here. In self defence, I kick, the sole of my converse coming into contact with Johnny's chest then he falls to the floor, bringing an alarming amount of my hair with him. I stand there, just looking at him, speechless. He's lying on the floor, breathless, but not dead at least. I breath out a sigh of relief, "Are you ok, Johnny?" The same girl I was rude to asks. Johnny looks around him, slightly confused, then takes the girls waiting hand and pulls himself up. He brushes himself down then turns to me, "You're crazy,"

"Johnny-"

"No, leave it Tee, she shouldn't be here. She's dangerous," he spits at me. I kick at the carpet with the toe of my shoe then laugh slightly, "I must have a really bad memory," I glance at the others, waiting for what I'm going to say, "Because I remember things a bit differently. In my version of things you lashed out at me first," I say with the emphasis on 'you', a smile playing on my lips and Johnny struggles to think of something to say, "You kicked me!" Lame. Lame comeback coming from a lame person's mouth,

"Self defense," I shrug then pick up my bin bag of stuff and carry it into the office, which is on the right, "Have you finished?" I ask, in my best 'I'm a really nice and polite girl' voice, "Nearly, Zara," Max smiles then signs at the bottom of a piece of paper that's part of a big stack, "There, now we're finished. Zara this is Mike, the head care worker here," Max gestures in Mike's direction. I nod slightly, "Don't you worry, Zara. Everyone here is really nice, I'm sure you'll fit in," Mike assures me. Oh I very much doubt it, I think, yet my mouth says something different, "I'm sure I will. Um, just out of interest, will I have my own room?" I silently cross my fingers under the table then relax when Mike smiles and nods, "Yes, there's one spare room here. You got here just in time,"

"I'm really glad to be here," I suck up to him as much as it is humanly possible to do. Mike smiles and nods, "Right well we're going to have to talk about your new school soon, but before that I believe dinner is ready," Right on cue I hear a female voice call from what I presume to be the kitchen, "Dinner is ready!" I almost laugh, it's such good timing,

"See ya, squirt," Max ruffles my hair a bit before leaving. I like Max. He's the first social worker to actually treat me like a human being. When I get in trouble, which is most days, he is strict and cross for a while then he can't help it anymore and just laughs at the stupid thing I've done, "Here, you go and get some lunch, I'll take your stuff up to your room," I let go of the bin bag as Mike takes it from me and leave the office obediently, "Just through there," Mike points in the direction of the kitchen, as he goes the other way. I put my dark shades back over my eyes. Here goes nothing.

I step through the open doorway into the kitchen where the others are already sitting down and eating. They all look like they are friends with each other. Weird. There's only one seat left, in between a small blonde boy and an older brunette one. I pull back the wooden chair and sit down. My plate is already there in front of me, filled with a portion of spaghetti bolognese. I twirl the fork around in the pasta, silent for once and not eating. It doesn't go unnoticed, "Not hungry?" The brunette boy beside me asks. I shake my head slowly, "You should eat something," he says, emphasising 'something'. I shake my head again, "You're not..." He starts but I interrupt him quickly, "No! And mind your own business!" I can almost feel my cheeks turn a light shade of pink,

"Zara?" I look up to see a woman, the other care worker, looking at me intently, "No sunglasses at the table," I hear a stifled snigger, probably from Johnny, but I don't care. That's a lot better than what I thought she was going to say. I push the shades to the top of my head so they're holding my fringe out of my face, "Did you know only 2% of people in the whole world have green eyes?" I look to my left to see the little blonde haired kid looking up at me. I shrug, "I don't care," His face falls as I turn back to picking at my spaghetti,

"You don't want that do you?" I hear the brunette boy whisper in my right ear. I shake my head, a lock of my black hair falling in my face. Without saying another word he picks up my plate and tips half of it's contents onto his. I look around at the table, but everyone's too engrossed in their own conversations to bother about what he's doing, "Why did you do that?" I ask him, confusion clear in my eyes. He shrugs his shoulders and starts eating his, well my, dinner. I give him a small smile, "I'm Zara,"

"I know," he laughs, putting another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, "You're rude as well," I cross my arms and let the hair fall in my face,

"I'm meant to be,"

"I know. I know what you're doing,"

"You do?" I bite on my bottom lip,

"I do," he nods,

"How?" I ask, twirling my fork in what's left of my spaghetti,

"Experience," He says quietly and calmly. I'm about to reply when I feel a sharp kick on my shin from across the table. I jerk my head up and see Johnny smirking at me. Wow what's his problem? "Why are you here then?" His voice isn't curious, it's harsh and taunting. I sit up straighter, ready for a fight if I need to be, "I bet your parents dumped you because you're so rude,"

"Actually, no," I smirk slightly,

"Oh yeah? What then?"

"They died," I'm not playing for sympathy. I say it calmly and to the point,

"Sorry," the boy I have been talking to all through dinner says,

"Don't be. I'm not,"

"You're sick," Johnny says, pulling a face. I raise one eyebrow, "You don't care that your parents died?" His voice raises and catches slightly at the end of his sentence. I shake my head slowly, "I didn't say that. I just don't want sympathy, is that bad?"

"Maybe you should care a bit more," he mutters under his breath. Not quite under enough because I hear him, "What? I do nothing but care about it. I just don't go on and on about my problems, because frankly? That gets boring," I say coolly then put down my knife and fork straight in the middle of my half empty plate, "I'm going,"


	2. Chapter 2

I start to unpack my stuff out of the black bin bag it travelled in. This room is looking more and more like my room, it's always the same everywhere I stay. Everything in the room has an exact place. The bed needs to be against the window, and, luckily for me, it already is in this room. The only thing that's wrong is the chest of drawers. They need to be against the wall on the left of the door. I start to push against the wood of the drawers. It's heavier than I thought it would be. I've got it half way across the room when there's a knock at the door. I abandon the chest drawers to open it, expecting Mike or even the women from dinner. It's not, "Hi," he looks around the room, "Need a hand?" I blow upwards in frustration then nod. I'm not that strong, by myself it will take a decade to get this piece of furniture in the right place. He pushes it for me while I unpack the rest of my stuff, except the clothes because they need to go in the chest of drawers. When it's in the exact place I want it I smile, "Thank you..." I start to say then realise that I actually don't know his name, "...Rick," he says as a prompt,

"Thank you, Rick," I guess he's not planning on leaving in much of a hurry because he sits down at the end of the bed and looks around the room, "Why do I get the feeling your room will always look like this?" He chuckles lightly. I sigh and look around the room which now looks familiar, except for the colour which I might just have to deal with, "I like things to stay the same. It's hard, when I move,"

"Why do you move? I thought social workers don't want to move kids who are settled,"

"I wasn't settled. Max says this is my last home before they..."

"Before what? And who's Max?" I stand up and wrap my arms over my chest. Why am I telling him all this? I don't open up and tell people about my life. Like ever, "Go," I say quietly,

"Fine," he says without even protesting, "I get it if you're scared, you know," I shake my head,

"I don't do scared,"

It doesn't bother me that I've just been rude to the only person who was willing to be nice to me, why would it? I don't care about him and if he cares about me at all then he's got a problem. I sit, cross-legged, on the bed and look around my room. I have stuck my three posters up on one wall, all of the Beatles, which is my favourite band. I don't know why I like their music so much, I just do. I like The Fray and Coldplay too, but when I looked I couldn't find any posters of them. The chest of drawers, now in the right place, has my mirror hung on the wall behind it and on top is my purple lava lamp and a cardboard shoe box I've had since I was little. It's filled to the brim with photos and short letters from my brother. He's dyslexic so I don't expect much, but I still treasure every single letter he wrote to me because, for him, a letter is a big deal. My brothers 7 and lives further south in a different care home. Max said it would be better if we didn't leave together and, though I don't agree with him, I see where he's coming from. I used to get into a lot of fights when I lived with Adam, my brother. People used to pick on him because he was small and dyslexic and he couldn't stand up for himself. So I'd punch people and get in big trouble. Especially when...No I don't have to think about that, Max said. I miss Adam, a lot. More than I thought I would. I miss us looking out for each other. I miss the annoying way he laughs and the way he can't sleep at night. I hope he's ok now. He always used to get nightmares, it was better when I was there with him. I really hope he has someone nice looking out for him now. Or maybe he's been fostered. I hope so, he deserves it.

The rest of my room is near enough perfect too. My white fur rug is on the floor just in front of my bed so when I get out of bed it's the first thing I step on. My clothes are folded neatly and put into the three drawers of the chest of drawers. I keep my pyjamas on my bed. They are just a plain white tank top and blue tartan-style shorts. I fiddle with bits of ribbon on the shorts before getting up and dialling Max's number. He picks up on the second ring, "Zara? Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I was just wondering..."

"Yes?"

"Do you know where my brother is?"

"Of course I do, Zara. Why? Do you want to see him?" He asks. I nod, even though we're on the phone and he can't see me, "Yes," my voice catches slightly at the end and that's when I realise that I'm crying. What if he doesn't even remember me? He was 7, but that was over two years ago. He'll be about ten now, "Ok. I'll come to Ashdene Ridge tomorrow and we'll try and sort something out, yeah?"

"Yeah," I sigh slightly then add as an afterthought, "Thanks Max,"

"It's my job," he laughs. I smile slightly then hang up the phone before placing it on my side table next to my bed. No sooner than I do that there's a feeble tap at the door, "Yes?" I ask impatiently as the door creaks open and Tee comes in, "I just wanted to say sorry for...you know what Johnny said,"

"There, you've said it," I pick my phone back up and am about to start playing again when I put it down again, "What's the deal with you and Johnny, anyway?" Tee turns around and blinks at me in surprise,

"What do you mean?"

"You seem to, well, like each other,"

"He's my brother," she says, rolling her eyes slightly. I look down at my hands and notice I'm wringing them. Everything makes a little more sense than it did before. Johnny lashed out at me before because I was rude to his sister, like I used to for Adam. Except Tee looks like she can look after herself and I didn't exactly hurt her. I just said I didn't care about what she had to say. I think Johnny might have a few anger issues. Tee isn't here anymore. I hardly noticed her slip out of my room, closing the door gently behind her. I poke my head around my door and look down the hall. My room is right at the end of the corridor so I can almost see everybody's rooms, but she's not there. I bet she's downstairs or maybe in her room. I don't know which is hers. I don't want to know. I decide to get changed into my pyjamas and go to bed. After all, I've got a big day tomorrow. Mike said he would talk to me about my new school and Max is coming to try and arrange something for me and Adam. Adam...I hope he hasn't changed, much. I hope he still has soft red hair and light freckles over his nose. I hope his blue eyes still sparkle whenever I tell him something he didn't already know. I hope he's how he used to be at least. I pull my tank top over my head thinking about this and thinking about what he'll be like if he's changed. I'm still thinking about it as I brush my long black hair out and pull it into a messy bun. Probably messier than it should be, but who cares I'm going to sleep. It's only about half 8, though, which is way too early to sleep. Maybe I could lie in bed and read more of 'My sister lives on the mantelpiece'. I'm only about halfway through it, but it's already made me cry multiple times. It's all about 9/11 and the 7/7 bombings. How a little boy's sister died in them and how his dad can't stand Muslims. I almost don't want the book to end it's just so...it's just so. I curl up in the bed, cold from the lack of anyone sleeping in it, and start to read.


	3. Chapter 3

My alarm wakes me at half 6. "You're not alone, together we stand. I'll be by your side you know I'll take your hand" is what I hear after the familiar guitar riffs of 'Keep Holding On' by Avril Lavigne before I smack my hand over the alarm clock. Avril is probably my second favourite artist after the Beatles. Actually, I might like her better. The Beatles are just my favourite band, Avril is my favourite singer. I blink, adjusting to the light and flicking some of the sleep out of my eyes. I forgot that I had that stupid alarm set. That was when I had to wake up early for school every morning. The only school remotely near that home was about 10 miles away and there was quite a bit of traffic so we used to have to get up earlier. Damn..It's Monday today. The other kids must be going to school, right? Well not me because Mike hasn't talked to me about it yet and, besides, I have to see Max today. I can't go to school today, no way. I swing my legs out of the bed, still debating this over and over again in my head. They wouldn't send me to school with no notice, right? I hope so. I try to stop a yawn, and fail, before sitting down in front of the chest of drawers and my mirror. My straighteners are already plugged into the socket conveniently placed next to the door. They're purple, like most of my furniture. It's my favourite colour, obviously. I flick the switch on the side and watch as the red light starts to flash telling me that they're heating up. While I'm waiting I brush out my hair with my brush which is backed with bamboo wood. It's still silky smooth from yesterday when I washed it back at my old care home. As I start to re-part my hair, the red light stops flashing meaning that they're ready to use. After straightening my hair and long bangs I start to debate over what to wear today. In the end I decide on a plain black tank top underneath a loose white top that says "Life is better when you dance" surrounded by musical notes. I pull on some leggings with studs down the side and I'm ready. Apart from my makeup. I don't normally use foundation, it makes my face too oily and I don't normally need it. I just dab some concealer onto a small blemish on my forehead then start to do my eye liner. I do it in an emerald green with a small flick at the end then behind it I use a bold black eye shadow and also put a little on my lower lash-line. I contour it out slightly, almost reaching my eyebrow and I'm done. My eyes are my favourite thing about me, so that's what I focus on when I do my makeup. I add a little tinted lip balm to my lips, but I'm basically done. I put on some ankle length socks and my black converses. They aren't real converses like the ones I tye-dyed myself, they're just the same style but black. I take a quick glance in the mirror and narrow my eyes at my reflection. I look well rested for once and the eye liner was definitely a good idea. My emerald eyes are some how bigger and brighter. More alive. I give a slight nod of approval at my appearance then start to head downstairs.

As expected, most of the other kids are wearing their school uniforms. The ones who aren't are still in their pyjamas. I quickly look over everyone and notice that they aren't all wearing the same uniform. Of course, the younger ones go to primary school. A couple are sitting at the breakfast bar, the rest at the table, "Nice of you to turn up," Johnny. What is his problem? I clench and unclench my fists, glaring at him, "What, are you too stupid to go to school or something?" He smirks, looking my outfit up and down. The way he says 'stupid' gets to me for some reason. Not because he's specifically calling me stupid, but because 'stupid' is what kids used to call Adam. I have never like that word, "Now, now Johnny," Mike says coming into the room, "Zara, your uniform," he says to me. What. He hands me a folded white shirt and plaid skirt, my size but they look wrong. Like I could never wear them, "No, I'm not going today," I say as calmly as I can, handing back the uniform, "I'm afraid you've got to. It's the law,"

"But...but," I stammer trying to think of a good enough reason for me not to go, "Max is coming today,"

"I know, he called me. He'll speak to me then, after you come back from school, I'll talk to you," He hands me back the uniform. I sigh, slightly defeated, "I'll go," I say at last, breaking the silence that has formed in the room. Mike smiles, but I'm not finished, "But I'm not wearing the uniform. I'll wear what I've got on," I gesture to my outfit,

"I would have thought you wouldn't want to stand out?" Mike is also defeated and is not up to arguing with me. I raise my eyebrows slightly and grin. They really don't know me. Yet.

I sit at the back of the mini bus next to Rick, simply because there's no one else. So he annoys me like hell and I was rude to him, but he's still the only person willing to talk to me nicely, "Have you ever, you know, been to school before?" He asks suddenly. So far we've sat in total silence while the rest of the kids talk to each other, "What kind of question is that? Of course I have," I snap, studying his face to see if it was a joke. I guess not. He's wearing his uniform, unlike me. It's a plain white shirt, black blazer and light blue tie. I remember briefly that there was a tie the same in the pile Mike handed me, along with a blue tartan skirt. Why do I get the feeling that the school's theme is blue, my least favourite colour? "Why?" I want to know why he thought I hadn't been to school before, "Well because you seem pretty keen to stand out," he looks down at my outfit. It's not really an outfit that stands out, but it's no uniform that's for sure, "Yeah well I want them to remember me," I state simply, pulling my sunglasses off the top of my head and back over my eyes signalling that the conversation is over, "Oh they'll remember you alright," he mutters under his breath.


End file.
